


Smile of Defeat

by Devilinthebox (princegrisejoie)



Category: Death Note
Genre: (get the pun), (or just before that rather), (to say the least), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, Mentors, Wammy House, Yotsuba Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrisejoie/pseuds/Devilinthebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Canon Divergence After Chapter 35] Where Mello and Near get to meet their sorrow-struck mentor, or why it is impossible to actually reach a star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smile of Defeat

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Le Mat du Roi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802221) by [Devilinthebox (princegrisejoie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrisejoie/pseuds/Devilinthebox). 



> FINALLY! I translated it! It took two days and many tears were shed in the process, so I hope you love it as much as the others. This means a great deal to me as it was a fic I wrote in a difficult time in my life, and I manage to still appreciate it somehow. Also, the prompts and fanarts are the work of [lex](http://lux-mea-lex.tumblr.com/), of course. ([art blog](http://luxastra.tumblr.com/)).  
> Naturally, canon divergence means canon was a secondary issue for me, except for the characterization.

_Dear diary. Here's Mello. No one will read these lines, I should hope so. I don't write for anyone. I just need to get rid of these thoughts before they poison my mind. On the paper, they won't bother. I'm trying to explain what happened yesterday, but doing this...it gets too real. Screw writing, if only I could go back in time, forget, never understand any of it._

_*_

The singular institution was named Wammy's House and it was painted grey at the turn of September. The mansion lost its colours. One by one, they fell as the autumn leaves after them. The orphanage remained regal though. The saddest of seasons made it more beautiful, perhaps because nothing in the deserted landscape could hope to surpass it.

Such was the feeling that gripped L, as he faced his almost-home again. He waited until the bells rang - seven in the morning - and passed the threshold. L left nothing to chance. At this hour, every child stood, silent and intimated, under the ancient stones of the chapel. Emptied corridors, abandonned classrooms - the orphanage showed the solitude imprisoned in its walls. It was a pleasant sight. To tear apart the House's polished mask, to reveal all the misery and sorrow hidden beneath the curtains - that was a thrill. Unlike dust, sorrow is visible. It was everywhere in the House. The most innocent toy had a story.

Perhaps L imagined it all, perhaps he was the only one with the see-through vision.

He casted a faraway glance at his phone, at Watari's most recent message. L had one hour for Near and Mello. Then he needed to dive into the Kira's case again. One hour was more than enough to say the gist of it, though he wouldn't have mind more time spent with those who had been taught to admire him, to believe in him. They asked of them the faith reserved to deities, all of this for one very moral man (memento mori, well, Kira makes sure I do). It seemed unfair, especially now.

But there was unfinished business in Japan. L felt nauseous at the thought.

The greatest Detective in the world had been blinded, and he needed four other eyes to see in the forest Kira trapped him into. Mello and Near were strangers in the game. They would bring a new perspective. L had to breathe before plunging once again, perhaps to be swallowed whole this time. But at least, he would have battled, resisted Kira with all the strength he had.

L was stubborn, but he recognised danger, he felt its constant pressure on his stomach and he heard the promise of death lurking in the calmest of intonations. He recognised it, in a certain person, in an allure so polished, every hour of every day.

He had chosen the handcuffs as a means of investigating. Could he have been mistaken in his choice? L brushed that away. He would meet his successors in the library and he had arrived at last.  
L's hand trembled as his fingers curled around the doorknob. He had elected the library for a reason as well, and the precious books Watari kept there had nothing to do with it. Their beauty was undeniable, of the classic kind. Every person can love an ancient book. What L wanted was to find an old feeling again. To lose himself in the labyrinth, not to be able to breathe as the bookshelves, mahogany-made giants, seemed to close in on the small child he had been. Some part of him wanted to forget what he was searching for; to be tempted, and to surrender against the powerful force that represented all these perfectly aligned books. To surrender, and to disappear finally. To lose control, just this once. And then, if he finds the labyrinth's end, to discover the universe again. To forgive all its faults.

It was a terrible thing to desire, yet L wanted it all the same. It hardly made sense to him. Desires often remain so: misunderstood, disturbing. We need them that way, in all their mystery. L couldn't refuse the existence of one riddle or two; that feeling of helplessness he longed for, his taste for perillous situations and dangerous people which defied logic and sense, he needed it too.

L did not lose himself among the shelves that day. As thrilling as the feeling was, he knew better than to drop his guard before it. He sat still in an armchair, sighed and let his head roll against its back. As his resolve threatened to fade away, he waited for the bells to ring. He fell to sleep. Silence combined with the reassuring presence of books made the temptation impossible to resist. Sleep found him at last - it had been so long - and Kira was forgotten. The menace of failure, the anguish that came with defeat, the perspective of a bitter end. All of this gone. In the images his mind produced, flashes that did not deserve to be called dreams just yet, only the red mark on his wrist remained. L never intented to erase that one. In his dream, the handcuffs were a thread that led to ...someone to share his solitude with.  
And the crux of the issue: he found Light, never Kira.

That, above all, defied all rules.

  
*

  
_Diary. You are of paper, you have no purpose, no existence. Still, I envy you. It will pass. I know I will want to live again soon. I just need to understand, for everything to make sense. L will not...he cannot lose. I have to chase the idea ouf of my head. Now._

*

The chapel demanded deep, harrowing silence. That made Mello's nerves raw, especially the nauseating smell of incense. The voice of the chaplain, and his everlasting litany, and the silence beneath it - Mello felt trapped, oppressed, his body pierced by so many tiny needles.  
They had informed him of L's confidential visit. A miracle. Mello realised it at once: inside him was this nameless absence, a hole, an empty space with no name because words could never make the sensation justice. Just as the letter L could not contain the force of the concept. Why name distant stars? Mello was breathless; there was a sword caught in his throat, a stake crushing his stomach, and he loved it all too much. Mello lived under the influence of L and he was terribly conscious of it. We all need a sky to look upon. L gave him direction, purpose and meaning. How could Mello resent him for that? Pain was the prince to pay for a life that mattered.

No one shared his sentiment. He could never hope to confide in anyone. In light of this reality, Mello had learnt to love his destructive emotions, so they turned bittersweet. Observe poison like a lover, and it becomes remedy.

Mello had lost track of Near after church. He imagined him curled up on the cold floor, assembling some overly complex robot, alone, up there in his spotless room. Like an old abandoned toy, apparenly devoid of sentiments, the sight of that room came with an irrepressible need to cry. Mello's jealousy might blind him at times, he could still see evidences when they stared right at him. Near lived for L as well. Did he hope to raise high enough to brush their idol's hand? To see his eyes? To thank the man that made a person out of two broken, bizarre, unwanted children? They filled themselves up with an ideal, yet Mello's heart beats a chaotic rhythm, yet Near's room is empty as ever.  
Perhaps they knew all too well that their hopes of becoming L's equal were fleeting, perillous. To walk side by side with L, who could ever do that without losing their breath, abandon their pride or their mind? Who could ever - ? No one, Mello and Near concluded with a hint of sorrow. If they can't walk by his side, maybe they can honour him. Make him proud.

Near was safe, thinking like this. But Mello was burdened with other, smothering sentiments than admiration. He was conscious of it, accepted it. L would never know. He accepted it as well. What he felt for L was an attraction that can bear distance, a love similar to that of the astronomer for the shiny night sky. Mello would kneel before the image of L - he needed, he wanted to know the man beneath the legend too. He would dream of it, but accepted reality as it was. Cold, inflexible. But not unfair: we do not touch the stars, this is only justice. We converse with them. We let ourselves be blinded by their light, and in a whisper we share our wishes with them. Nothing else. For the rest, we can always reach them in a dream.

Mello accepted that. Everything would fall into place, if no one ever touched his star.

_*_

  
_Until then, it seemed clear. As I wrote it months ago: L is unreachable. He is a tale. Tales are better than us. Jealously had left me at last. No one could be a menace, since L lived as a legend - alone, powerful in his solitude. All that time spent thinking I was right, thinking I was brilliant and cured of pain. Was it all a dream? A wish?_

  
_*_

The sun shone a pale light that barely reached the library. Darkness guarded the room, always. There were places the sun could never magnify. After all, some of us grow in sorrow and fear the light.  
L could not use a beautiful metaphor as an excuse - it wasn't right to be attracted to the shadows, as a detective on the path of the truth.

It was time. The bells took over the House with their sinister music. As compensation for the melancholy they instilled in him, L drew a macaroon out of the box he had placed on the coffee table before him. He waited for the door to open. The last moments live the longest.

L had few reasons to worry: his successors were no strangers to him, as he had learnt to know them in spite of the distance. Neither shyness nor anguish were gripping at his throat. No, what he felt was the certitude it wasn't a meeting he had planned, but a farewell of sorts. A ceremony. Of course, he resented himself for his defeatism, because there were not doubt about it: he would win the game.

L understood Kira's ways. He frightened the man beneath the mask, and Kira couldn't return the slap, he could never force L out of his costume. L stayed the Great Detective, whilst Kira withdrew... And yet, Kira was there, always, whenever that man was looking up to L for advice. He was there each time they talked, each time they discussed death, architecture, the state of the universe. Kira was always there, trapped, caught, waiting.  
One evidence, that was all the curtains needed to fall at last.

Victory was hovering around and it lacked its usual beauty. L needed that old familiar joy again, the joy that came with self-righteousness, the delight of being right and a victor. Perhaps that was all part of Kira's plan. Perhaps he had accepted defeat after all, and decided to poison L so as to rob him of happiness. Kira could kill with a name, bend the wills of the strongest fighters. Could he control emotions as well? Turn joy into ashes? Glory into pathos? Victory into bitter loss? L doubted, and so...

...the macaroon broke between his fingers.

*

_I found Near long after mass. He was sat on a bench of stone, alone. Paler than usual. Waiting for me to head to the library. We both knew the path, so we walked silently. I think our states of mind were similar. I was dead and waiting for judgement, but my heart weighted on me, it was loud, screaming; surely it knew that meeting would change the rest of my existence._

 

*

The successors of the Greatest Detective in the world pushed the door in unisson. The cold floor and the ornaments of stone made them feel like chess pieces on an immense board, making their first move at last.  
The orphans had lived without a precise image of their idol. That's for the best, Mello thought, because his imaginary L could never rival the man they saw then.

L had been an horizon and a letter for years. An utopia. One day, they had been granted a favour: a human voice. His voice, without a body to overshadow it, is a melody never surpassed. Mello learnt each of the notes that composed its intonation. He loved music, so he could survive and love with just a voice. To him, it was masterpiece, a symphony. Something irremplacable and powerful.

Thus, Mello wasn't facing a stranger. Maybe it was Near's case, though he might have drawn some of L's secrets from that voice too. They never shared intelligence. Near was able to read through the most complex partitions, but he rarely ever played them. That gave Mello a strong advantage.

They finally reached the office adjacent to the library.

*

_At last, the man behind the mask was standing before us. He wasn't facing us, actually. He had sunk in an armchair that looked like a throne, observing the wall of pastries he had erected on the table before him. Details. I was entirely devoted to the complation of my idol. I wasn't blinded. L did not shine. He was dark, and seemed sad. It gripped me. I was in awe of him, of course, but that sentiment was now mixed with worry, the most selfless emotion. I shared his sorrow: that caught me off-guard._  
_Near remained silent. He was expecting me to talk first._

*

"Are the macaroons for us aswell?" Mello asked. Another child would have felt ashamed to greet the Greatest Detective that way. Mello was certain it was the best entrance he could make. He refused to yield before anxiety. Remain silent as the devoted before God, that would have been shameful.

L offered a soft smile, and Mello knew he had been right. He failed to relax completely though; his eyes wouldn't meet L's, for fear of seeing sorrow again.  
Mello focused on L's long, bony fingers: they motioned him to pick a pastry. Mello obliged, and realised stress prevented him from eating anything. He lifted an eyebrow in disbelief as Near chose a vanilla macaroon. Were they destined to mirror each other all the time? Did Near only ever eat under the influence of stress?

Perhaps he was just being polite.

Mello sat in one of the smaller armchair, followed by Near. In spite of his apparent exhaustion, L looked like some strange prince facing his advisors. Mello marveled at the thought.

"As you very well know, I rarely accept to expose myself like this. I must stay in the darkness; that comes with acting as L. I wouldn't have accepted to meet you two if it wasn't for - "

L wasn't the hesitant type, yet he had to pause. He bit his lower lip, glanced around, and went on:

"I thought that the moment I would have guessed who Kira was, the endgame would become child's play," he said in a slow voice before biting into a blood red macaroon that contrasted with the black shirt he clearly wasn't used to wear. Without a vest to give him broader shoulders, L resembled some Beaudelairian figure - a melancholic man with a stormy temper.

His modulated voice tightened as he said: "I have Kira by my side, and still checkmate is impossible. He couldn't have imagined a better move than this one. I am playing a game of my own, using pawns of my own...but for what? He might already know how this ends. He could be waiting for me at the mat."

"The murders are still going on. Does this mean Kira can kill under your watch?" Near said, frowning. He seemed to disapprove of the way L evoked Kira. He spoke of a Nemesis, not of a criminal.

Mello would have intervened if L's eyes hadn't lit up with excitement, anger and frustration as he alluded to Kira's plans. All that fiery passion dried Mello's throat.

"I cannot give you all the details now," L replied, colder.

The teacher that shares his secrets is half-dead - Mello felt reassured by L's cautiousness. His sorrow was nothing but fleeting; it would surely come to pass. L would win. All battles have these moments of frightening lassitude. But the winner is the one who resists, the one who stays wide awake.

L had that fire in his eyes that Mello would adopt as a trademark. "I will tell you one thing: in fifty days of detention, never has he escaped my watch. For the first time today, I am not here to observe him, but I trust Watari not to lose sight of him. The murders did cease for a while, and they started again. My perfect checkmate may have been the first move in his own strategy. He is the one who asked to be watched."

"You think he can pass his power to somebody else," Near declared. "You think he handed himself over to you in order to forge an alibi."

"That, or I am battling with a deity. In truth, I might have missed Kira, and caught only his...vessel, so to speak."

Mello snapped, offended by the grief L had injected into his words: "His attitude hasn't changed, has it? This might not be the perfect evidence you are looking for, but the profile is consistent: he is acting as Kira would. Perhaps he gave his power to someone else because he felt trapped, but he remains the same childish young man you described back then, on TV. The affluent, arrogant child that killed Lind L Tailor. He is bound to miss his power sooner or later." Mello lifted his eyes and finally dared confront L. "You could force him to expose himself."

"Yes. But it is not as simple as it seems. The one I was fighting used to be a brilliant young man disguised as a deity. I came to him so I would catch him off-guard, and that strategy benefitted me. Then, I investigated him until I knew him so well, my suspicions turned to certitude. I had him with me, all this time, and the next minute he is the one pulling the strings, he is the one asking to be imprisoned. The second I accepted to play by his rules might have been the second I lost for good. I fear this might be the end for me."

*

_We knew L was in danger - he was the heretic against a megalomaniac, fanatical pseudo-God. We had also witnessed L's torment - he once called himself a monster before us whilst the world knew him as Justice. We knew his darkness. Yet never had we pictured his sadness. He had been abandoned, all alone just like us. So why refuse him this sadness? Was it too ordinary a feeling for my idol?_  
_That day I realised this: stars do not disappear when they stop shining. They're still there, they persist, beneath the light of the sun, of the moon. These are the ones I should resent for keeping L away from me, these blinding lights everyone adores._  
_L resisted, if only for his pride. He would resist Kira, escape the judgement. At least, look at him in the eyes. No one looks at gods in the eyes. Well, that wasn't all; L had other reasons to persist, but at the time only these were accessible to me._

  
*

"Here, have a look."

L handed them a photograph; Near reached for it immediately while Mello prefered to observe L's expression. As an avid reader perceives the subltest of allusions beyond simple words, Mello saw the emotions L hoped to hide. Mello could not give them names, they were too chaotic. Names reduce things. Sentiments blossom and fade too fast, they need to be seized by instinct. Mello excelled at this.

He had been so devoted to the exercise that he hadn't glanced at the photograph when Near asked for the second one.

"What do you mean, the second one?" L said, eyes fixated on a macaroon again.

"I think you expect us to compare two photographs," clarified Near. Mello could have sworn his voice trembled on the last words.

The Detective seemed satisfied and did not ask Near to justify his affirmation. Mello would have protested if he could tear his attention away from L. He was missing the obvious. L wasn't testing them: he was asking for their opinion. It did not matter how Near came to his conclusion, because L was too impatient for them to comment the photographs. Why? Had he lost faith in his own intelligence? Did he believe Kira managed to blind him, to alter his sight -

Mello moved a hand to his neck to verify someone wasn't actually strangling him. He crossed L's look admist the despair that was seizing him. In these eyes, what he read was...guilt? I have to be wrong. I have to be mistaken.

"Here's the second picture."

This time, Mello observed the two photographs as Near held them side by side. Their source was the same surveillance camera, and they showed the same caged young man. At first glance, the time of the recording was the only major difference Mello noticed, so he detailed the prisoner. Worry marred his graceful features and exhaustion ruined his posture, yet he maintained an air of undisturbed dignity. He reminded Mello of these very expensive, very beautiful sculptures that feel out of place outside of museums and art galleries. He is utterly devoid of charisma, Mello thought.

Could Kira fit beneath this polished persona? Why not, after all - sure, Kira was a serial killer, but he expected the world to desire him, he wanted the universe to fall head over heels for him. He must be the kind of man that knows his image more than his self.

Mello grew tired of observing him.

"Why are these photographs so important?" he asked, allowing his impatience to show in his tone.

"It seems impossible to determine the moment he gave his power away," Near added. "Do you think it happened in-between the two pictures?"

L sighed, and Mello wished they could go back in time to get the riddle right. Was he disappointed? Mello overcame his anguish, the fear that froze his blood, and challenged his mentor's cold look. There was lassitude on his face, but in his eyes lived a burning emotion. Mello wished he could speak, but the sight awoke his familiar fear of failure and he remained paralysed and shamefully silent. Only L could hinder Mello's impulsive nature.

"Don't just see him! Observe," intimated L, maybe unaware he was quoting Sherlock Holmes. Near seemed a bit irritated at the remark. "Look at his eyes," L insisted then.

To have L scowling them because they failed - deliberately - to meet Kira's eyes filled Mello with disgust. Without a word, he confronted the photographs again. Near had the first one, Mello chose the second. Their looks went from one to the other.

It hit them at the same time.

The photograph was of coated paper, nothing mystical about it. And yet, it touched Mello at his core; Near retreated into a heavy silence that Mello interpreted as an intense emotion. Their looks followed the same path once again, from one picture to the other, and for the first time they were working together, thinking as one. Had Near drawn the same conclusion as him? Did he felt the same horrifying sentiment? It seemed so.

Brave as ever, Mello voiced their thoughts first: "Something deep...changed him. There's a five-seconds interval, and still - Did he say something? You could hear him, right?"

*

_My anxiety faded then. I dropped the photograph on the table, my body slid closer to L as I hooked his full attention at last. The most brilliant man in the universe lacked answers. I understood the feeling. Never would have I imagined I could share it with L._

*

  
L's voice broke the silence; the calmest melody maimed by a barely perceptible sadness ( _it still left me breathless_ ):

"Yes. He spoke. He said 'my pride, I'll have to get rid of it'. Then, he lifted his head, challenged the camera, claiming he was innocent with a passion that... surpassed his usual verve by far...He may have tricked me, or he may have said the truth. Or..."

Mello and Near expected L to add something, anything. The Detective wasn't aiming at leaving his successors in the dark. For once, the mystery he was engulfed in wasn't scripted. L wasn't playing any of the games he knew. This one was brand new and he had been unwillingly playing along for God knows how long.  
He owed his successors more details, some explanations. The religious silence he imposed on them was not planned, not anymore. It was the pathetic result of his doubts. The product of fear.

Mello turned to Near: they exchanged a look of vague worry. _Even you, Near?_ So it fell on Mello to reach the man underneath the armor L had created for himself. It was his duty to unravel his beloved star, the only one in the sky for him.  
So be it. Truth be told, Mello was terrified. Stars burn, but he was not afraid of fire. Stars belong in the sky, but he did not mind heights. What Mello feared was to reach for his star, to grasp it at last only to discover it was not a star at all. That he had been wrong about its nature, that his observations were flawed and bound to wound.

What if L was the monster he once pretended to be? What if the reason Kira was leading the game was that he knew L, that he knew L in his marrow, because there is no one Kira loves to toy with better than someone who could be his match? Do you wish people would pray to you too?

Mello was reluctant to tear off that light-made image he had wrapped L into. He was untouchable.

He couldn't accept Kira's ambition to soil his idol either. No, they had nothing in common. Abandoned children love heroes. L was the hero Mello needed, with his flaws, his bizarre looks and all. In the mind of this child that grew up too fast, L was a slayer of monsters, and he was worthy of admiration. Thus, Mello found it in him to help his hero voice his doubts. That visit was L reaching for them; it was an expression of fear, and as painful as it was to see L in this position, they would be cowards to ignore his call.

"You thought he was telling the truth - you feel he is telling the truth, and still, you are certain he is Kira at this point," dared Mello. At his side, Near gave a feeble nod. Mello felt confident enough to add: "You feel trapped. You know who is guilty and you could even think of a way to arrest him. But you need to be sure. You need decisive proof, because you are dilligent in your work, and also -" That was unpleasant to voice. "...because you owe him that much. If Kira...possessed him, that makes him a victim."

"I agree. There's no need to resort to possession, or anything metaphysical, though. It could be amnesia," said Near. Mello couldn't contradict him - he loved the supernatural, but Kira wasn't a God. He wasn't even a spirit nor a demon. Kira was a child, a child that hurt their childhood hero.

L did not say anything for a moment, letting the silence linger. As a general rule, he doubted everything, everyone, facts or people. Kira forced him to question himself, his own mind, the one certitude he had.

*

  
_We observed him, our suffering idol. There, in his eyes, was a torment marring his (unparalled) mind that he failed to grasp entirely. He resembled a sentenced man. His sentence wasn't death._  
_I thought of the words he had said earlier. "I am playing a game of my own, using pawns of my own...but for what?" Was defeat the monster haunting L? Wasn't he fearing something else completely..._  
_A Zugzwang of sorts? To be condemned to a move that would weaken his position? Defeat wasn't a perspective he would allow himself to think about. But he had undeniably lost his advantage. Kira lurred him away from his throne. Kira had led L to release him. Now the slightest move L made might be part of some plan. L may be working every day for his demise, digging his own grave along with a now pure-of-sin Kira._

_How treacherous of him. He had caught L in a web of thousand lies and one armor-piercing truth: "I am not Kira". And just so, L, our undefeated King could only wait for the spider to sneak its way back to the web, and hope to catch it, or else -_

*

  
L's suffering became perceptible to them, as he leapt to his feet and said in a breath: "It's suffocating in here. Let's breathe."

The library had impressive balconies with the perfect view. Nothing closed the horizon, there wasn't anything to look at but the sky of nostalgic grey. They had reached that time of the morning where time loses meaning. Near fell into a chair, facing the light rain. There wasn't any stars to admire any longer, but Near loved astronomy, he loved the sky starless, full of clouds, and deep blue also. He loved the sky and how tiny everyone was in comparison. It helped him gain some perspective.

The moon had lingered, as it does sometimes in early winter, or perhaps Mello imagined it was the moonlight flooding over L's features. He pulled up the collar of his trenchcoat. Mello felt the faint emotions in his breathing. Did the future seem menacing?

*

  
_I wasn't mad at him for his fear neither did I resent him for showing it to us. He couldn't allow himself one misstep in the presence of Kira, and now they were never leaving each other. He was always there, looking (and the tragedy, I could see it, was that the man with L now might be looking for hints and clues to help, just as I did)._  
_It was all but horrifying to witness L's solitude, his quiet despair and the way he seemed to drown into the sky. I wished he would turn around, look at me._  
_Was he still here? Was he looking for missing clues in moments he shared with him - that other man? Was he simply admiring the faint trace of the moon? What did he expect from that cold, distant moon? (In the diary, Mello had added a few words, years after: I understand now. I just needed a name.)_

*

Words from L rang at last, sincere, laced with a gratitude the Detective reserved to few:

"I did not mean to scare you. I will find a way out. I simply needed to hear you. Both of you."

Mello could not think of anything to say. It all seemed empty, meaningless. He felt grateful to Near when he spoke: "You might feel trapped, as Mello said. But don't forget what's important. Kira forgot his crimes, and you could be tempted to see your suspect as a victim. But the fact remains: Kira is his creation. His responsibility."

That seemed to revive L. He turned to face them again. "He made me promise not to free him before I...or rather, we catch Kira. The murders started again, he could have resented me for keeping him so close. But he seemed relieved...actually relieved to catch Kira with me."

"Well. If he's so brilliant, then it's a good thing," Mello said. "Together, you are bound to find the truth. Whatever it is. Kira might actually be the one to be digging his own grave."

Near nodded. "You can still win." It was Near for you: he meant to be reassuring, but it sounded cold, almost like a threat. Mello distinguished the hint of a reproach. Could he blame Near when he couldn't even make a smile for L?

L loved what-ifs, and he seemed lost in thought again. "I can arrest Kira, I can break him. But you're wrong. I don't think I can win. Not anymore."

Mello's heart sunk. "How? To capture Kira, isn't it the goal?" He feared the answer. Oh, he knew the answer.

"Kira's strategy. His strategy can fail, he is not invicible. However, he deprived me of my perfect victory. He stole it the moment he forced me out of the darkness."

Mello stared at his idol, the man that avoided his gaze all the time. The unreachable star, moved by the fate of another. Here laid the truth poisoning L. Mello realised that, and Mello snapped.

"You claimed to be Justice! You provoked him! You chased him and you promised us his head! You will beat him at his own game, that is a perfect victory if I ever knew one!"

Near looked at L as well, all frozen silence and cold judgement - the mask he wore in times of terror.

"Dear Mello, some victories feel like defeat. It was the mission they all trusted L with, I imagine: to humiliate the so-called deity. To hurt him. To torture him, to force him down on his knees. I subscribed to the fantasy because I am arrogant and childish at times. Maybe I believed in it for a while," explained L. His beautiful voice was broken. "The game had just begun. Do not fall for the same trick as everyone. L and Kira aren't two gods battling for ideals. We are two players, equally foul."

 

 

Mello's heart missed a beat. "Do not compare yourself to Kira! There isn't one universe in which you would have followed the same path! Human or not, he is a power-hungry narcissist. He is hiding, waxing his poetry for the world to desire him but isn't it a thing tyrants do? He is made of the stuff of monsters, L!"

"There are many types of monsters, Mello," L reminded him. Under any other circumstance, that faint smile he gave, and that name pronounced with a strange sweetness would have transported Mello. He didn't even notice it.

*

  
_I hated Kira before that. I had been well aware of the influence the false deity had on my idol. Still, I could pretend it was but a pointless fear. I could pretend L never cared for that pathetic killer, and that he would forget him someday._  
_Now, even if he wins - Did Kira stained him forever? In obscurity and pain, I was discovering the darkest parts of a man I adored. He wasn't condemned into an unpleasant move - that's Zugszwang.- no, L could have a victory as perfect as he envisioned it the first day of their game._  
_Did he still want it as much?_  
_Duty, pride, honour - those were the virtues that made defeat impossible. Thank God he had those still._

*

  
"He came to me, he begged me to imprison him," L murmured, for himself rather than his successors. "Of course it was a plan. A brilliant wager. I wonder if he knows himself well enough to have planned that - his admiration for me."

Mello made Kira in mind, he figured this adolescent as a demon now, in spite of reason. A demon that approached, touched and gutted L until he became bloodless. L would win, but he would not love his victory - that simple truth came with impossible pain. _The human that created Kira disgusted me. He was trying to smash the brightest of stars to pieces._

Near spoke for the two of them again. "He invented Kira. Surely, he must be capable to hurt himself in order to attain his goal."

"He is carving a martyr out of himself. To reach such a level of abnegation...I wished I could see Kira in that young man I see every day." A pause, filled with words Mello didn't want to think about. Then, with eyes too expressive: "He hates Kira, you know? He hates him more than I ever could."

L fell silent after that. Alone in their own sorrow, Mello and Near did not voice their concern any more. There was nothing to add.

*  
Before parting ways, Mello found the courage to say the words he had kept for too long.

"Do you think arresting him now would be unfair?"

"Isn't it?" L shot back.

"Maybe. But I hope you answered with your mind alone."

L had gone paler above his dark trenchcoat. He made a smile, a sad, tired smile. The smile of defeat, Mello thought. He hated his own cruelty.

"You're right, as you often are when it comes to sentiments. I will catch Kira, and I will win against my friend. That, Mello, is a bittersweet victory."

*  
_His beautiful smile - melancholic, tormented, sorrowful. The smile of defeat, yeah, that's what I thought. I would have cried my heart out. I was so ashamed, to think of L that way. But it was beyond my control. I could only think: "he's gonna lose, lose, lose, lose, lose..." and the adoration I still had for him prevented me from spitting the words to his face._

_He was there, before us; we loved him much more than anything in the world, and he let these doubts devour him. He wasn't surrendering. But he wasn't above offering his love to someone who longed for his death._

_(_ A few sentences have been crossed-out since then, some were written more recently _: 'To my eyes, at the time, imagining that L could love the creator of a monster was blasphemy. Today, I hope he can forgive me for my sins, and all of this seems clearer. L, I finally understand what you meant that day._

_L, if I could go back in time, I would try to understand. Please, forgive the child that loved you too much to get through your skin._

_I wish we can meet again soon.)_

*  
  
L had left the House without answers, and that did not matter. He was certain he never needed them. His successors were right: Kira had to be destroyed. He would fulfill his duty, like a soldier, carry on. If it meant sacrificing Light, would L ever atone for this sin? In the event of a defeat, would Kira drag his body around, agonising, feverish and humiliated? Would he carry him to the altar he had left Light to die?

Perhaps L and Kira weren't monsters after all. Monsters kill each other on sight. They don't stage their deaths. There is no game or second thought, only blood and flesh, and they are above that, aren't they?

L sighed, pulling his collar up - the cold was suddenly biting at his flesh, pressing threats like kisses. The Detective yearned for the days he had to lose himself into a labyrinth of shelves so as to feel himself disappear.

 


End file.
